


The Color of Sin

by Harpalyke



Category: Aladdin (1992)
Genre: Conditioning, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Submission, Loss of Virginity, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23900539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpalyke/pseuds/Harpalyke
Summary: In one minute, Jasmine was preparing to marry Prince Ali. In the next minute, Jafar had taken control of everything in Agrabah, even her own mind. And in the next, she was doing and feeling things for him she never had before...
Relationships: Jafar/Jasmine (Disney)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 109
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	The Color of Sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanwenmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwenmc/gifts).



For about an hour, Jasmine’s mind departed from her body and went elsewhere. Where, she couldn’t say. Her body, meanwhile, was dragged back into the palace. She only blinked and she was standing next to the throne, dressed in red. _Red_ _is the color of sin,_ one of the royal ladies had told her once. In the throne sat not her father but Jafar. 

“Wouldn’t you agree, princess?” he was asking, his wicked smirk set in place. Jasmine had no idea what he was asking her until he waved a careless hand toward the other side of the hall. 

Amid the gleaming, ridiculous piles of gold was her father dressed as a jester, fixed to marionette strings. He was trying to speak, indignant, but his cheeks were bulging with a beige-colored mass, muffling the words. Jafar’s awful parrot was stuffing his mouth with crackers. “Here you go!” he cackled. “You like those, eh?” 

Jasmine shook her head. No, this was too strange. She will go away again and when she comes back, her father will be back on the throne in his white robes, and Prince Ali—no, Aladdin—Aladdin— _where is he?_ Her knees buckled as all the air left her head. Aladdin, her one true love, gone—

Her cheeks were wet with tears, she realized. Thankfully, Jafar’s head was turned, watching her father. Iago had run out of crackers, so now he was circling above her father’s head, still taunting him. Farther back, the genie sat upon the steps, hunched over and facing away. Jasmine reached up to wipe her face and found her wrists bound by heavy, twisted chains. The clinking drew Jafar’s attention and he whirled around to look at her. Hastily, she dropped her arms and stood frozen. 

“I’ve asked you a question, princess,” he hissed, clutching her chin with cold fingers. “Do you agree this kingdom will be much improved under my rule?” 

He expected a yes, but he expected too damn much of her lately, especially now, after humiliating her father and exiling the love of her life. She curled her hands into fists and tore herself out of his grasp. “How could you? The genie may have granted you royalty, but you can’t wish away your true nature.” 

Jafar tightened his lips and stood straight, causing Jasmine to flinch against her will. He raised his staff and she cowered slightly, expecting him to strike her with it. He did not; he slammed the bottom against the floor and brought it closer to her face. The serpent’s eyes gleamed red…

_ No! Turn away! _ She couldn’t. Transfixed, she stared into the glowing eyes and went away again. This time not into plain whiteness but to her lounge, reclining on the chaise and drifting off to sleep. Her dream had been an indiscernible mix of flesh and hot breath and internal heat, featuring a low, horribly-familiar voice.

_ I am your master, Jasmine. You will submit to me.  _

When she’d awakened, she’d found her hand under her nightdress, her fingers sticky with dried desire. No, that was not  _ him, _ she had assured herself. She would never, ever—

Abruptly, Jafar pulled the staff away, bringing her back to the present. The chuckle he gave her was snide, all-knowing. Jasmine flushed, her cheeks matching her clothing.  _ Red is the color of sin... _

“I am your master,” he told her. “You will submit to me.”

She gasped, feeling her insides sink lower. How could he possibly have known about the dream? Did he  _ place _ it there somehow—? 

Before she could finish the question, the answer ceased to matter: Just over Jafar’s shoulder, she spotted a masculine figure creeping around a pile of gold. A familiar figure—Aladdin. And she wasn’t hallucinating; the genie spotted him, too. 

Jasmine’s heart lifted, her lips parting. But she had to catch herself, for Jafar was still watching her. Had to look neutral, had to keep his eyes over here…

She reached out, aiming for his chest. “How, exactly—?” 

A loud  _ clang _ from behind him cut her off. Jafar whipped around, his staff already pointed at Abu, Aladdin’s clever monkey. Unfortunately, he wasn’t clever enough to escape the burst of light from Jafar’s staff turning him into a clapping toy. Another  _ clang _ as he hit the floor, made not of flesh and fur but metal. The genie’s lamp lay on the floor, abandoned. 

Jasmine stepped forward in the same second Aladdin appeared on the flying carpet, aiming for the lamp. “No!” she cried as another spurt of light from Jafar’s staff unthreaded the rug, sending Aladdin to the floor. 

Without missing a beat, Jafar pointed the staff at Aladdin and conjured a structure so great and formidable, Jasmine could only stare at its formation. An hourglass nearly as tall as the ceiling, trapping Aladdin within its glass walls and pouring pale sand onto his head. He ducked out of the way, but after a second, there was already a coating of sand beneath his bare feet. 

“Your time is up, Aladdin!” Jafar bellowed, letting out a raucous cackle. 

Jasmine was moving closer to the lamp, prematurely reaching out. Before she could take another step, Iago swooped down from out of nowhere and snatched it up with his claws. “Let’s go, genie!” the bird squawked in his skin-itching voice. The genie had no choice but to follow him out of the hall, giving one last rueful look at Aladdin. 

The sand was swirling around Aladdin’s ankles now. Jasmine took another step toward him, causing Jafar to turn and face her, freezing her in place with her chained arms still extended. “You’re not going anywhere, princess,” he told her before pointing the staff at her father. “My dear man, we wouldn’t want you to see your daughter consummate her submission to her true master.”

“No!” she bawled as white light hit her father’s face. For a moment he swayed, grinning sleepily as if drunk, and then his chin dropped to his chest. A sob built up in Jasmine’s chest, shaking her shoulders.  _ Oh, please no, don’t let him be— _ A loud snore filled the room, filling her with relief. 

However, the fear rushing through her did not abate. The sand was up to Aladdin’s knees now. Though he was doing a decent job of climbing to the top, it was coming down even faster, or so it seemed…

Jafar advanced on her, staff held high, blocking her view of Aladdin. “You will submit to me,” he said, a foul grin crossing his face. “I am your master.” 

The eyes of the staff glowed red again, drawing her in. Alright, new plan, she decided, her mind choppy with desperation. She would go along with whatever this was to give the genie time to save Aladdin. The genie could save Aladdin, yes, he had to…

The red glow was blurring into a haze, fogging up her head, so she forced her eyes to the right, hoping to ward off the spell. Then she was bathed in gold light, warm in contrast to the cold she felt against her skin a second later. She looked down and realized that, save for her thick, dark hair flowing to her waist and the shackles, she was entirely naked. 

“There you are, princess, much better,” Jafar taunted, moving to the side. “I think Aladdin would agree.”

Aladdin had succumbed to the sand, suspended up to his chest. When he registered Jasmine, he started to thrash and yell, his words warped by the glass. Jafar turned the staff on him, halting the flow of sand. “Let’s put his imminent death on hold for now. He’ll want to watch this.” 

Jasmine, back in reality, curled in on herself, hoping her hair served as enough of a curtain over her naked form. This was  _ not _ how she wanted to present herself to Aladdin for the first time. “No, enough, please…” 

“Look at me, Jasmine,” Jafar ordered. She blinked and he was in front of the hourglass again, staff raised. The red eyes bore into her, commanding her attention. Where was the damn genie? The cuffs unleashed a wrist, snaking around her hips and capturing it again, tugging her arms back. Some of her hair was taken back with them. 

“Say it, princess. I am your master. You submit to me.” 

“You are my master,” Jasmine echoed. “I submit to you.” Oddly, she was not nearly as fussed with the situation as she was a few minutes ago. Warmth was surrounding her, caressing her bare skin, hazing everything else out. For the first time since spending a lazy afternoon with “Prince Ali,” she felt almost...relaxed. 

“Good girl,” Jafar coaxed. “Come here.” 

She didn’t even have to think, her feet moving her closer before he’d finished his command. Oh, how wonderful it was to not have to think and worry and cry, to just follow her master—

_ No, no, what are you doing? Jafar is not your master! Don’t listen to him! _ Yet on she walked until she was right in front of him, gazing into the eyes of the golden serpent.  _ That’s it, submit to your master. _ Her father’s snores faded out; the hourglass and her nakedness ceased to matter. 

When she was within reach, Jafar rested the staff against the throne and clasped her chin. Though she was looking into his narrowed dark eyes, she felt no less—well, no less and no more of anything. In fact, she felt nothing at all. Her mind had departed again, taking her conscience but leaving her conscious. 

Until Jafar’s hand slid lower into the curve of her neck and palmed her pert, bare breast. The other joined and they squeezed her buoyant flesh, sending tingles throughout, intensified by the hunger in his eyes. He still had her under a spell, she realized, but that realization was simply registered and filed away.

“Ah, now you are properly behaving,” Jafar’s tone was pleased and it pleased Jasmine to know she’d pleased him.  _ Absurd, _ replied a snappish voice in her ear. She ignored it, letting loose a small grin. 

His hands wrapped around her waist and her pelvis thrust slightly toward his. He touched her lips with his, sending stronger tingles all over, her skin and muscles and bones alive with pleasure. “Such a good girl,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Won’t you please me even more, princess, on your knees?” 

Jasmine braced herself for the cold of the floor against her knees, yet that was oddly warm, too. The shackles found her ankles and bound her wrists to them. She glanced up at Jafar, grinning and fluttering her eyelashes as he stroked her hair. With his other hand, he pulled aside his robes. 

Even with his large cock in front of her face, Jasmine was not alarmed. She was ready—ready to submit to her master. Thus, when he nestled a firm hand into the hair at the back of her head and pulled her closer, she puckered her lips and kissed the tip. 

“Such a good little princess, pleasing Master with her mouth.”

Somewhere far away, the sound of shattering glass bounced off the piles of gold and reached her ears, followed by someone calling her name.  _ Jasmine! _ She was unsure if it was in her head or not, but did it really matter right now? First priority was giving Master his due pleasure. She closed her eyes and planted soft kisses down his shaft. 

“Mm, yes,” he was hissing now, smoothing her hair back away from her face so it wouldn’t stick to her lips. “Come, princess, let’s play a different way, shall we?” 

He withdrew and replaced his robes, prompting Jasmine to rise. The shackles released her ankles and one of her wrists. Now she was free—free to climb upon the throne, guided by Jafar. “Raise your hands,” he ordered softly. Of course she obeyed. Her wrists were chained together again and also to the ornate bronze pattern somewhere above her head. 

“Open your legs. Show me all of you, that’s it…” 

For an agonizing few moments, Jafar did nothing but stand in front of her, studying her.  _ Please, Master, please touch me, please do anything! _ Jasmine begged with her eyes and still he wouldn’t move. How had she gone all this time resisting the charm and intelligence of this man? Indeed he deserved to be sultan! And she—did she deserve to be his queen? 

“You were wrong, princess,” he said, causing her heart to flutter wildly in her chest. “You  _ are _ a prize to be won. And I’ve finally won you.” 

Her chest heaved as it filled with pride and desire. She remembered screaming those words at him, stubbornly denying his marriage proposal. How silly she had been, how bratty and insubordinate. She was lucky Jafar was giving her another chance. “Yes, Master, I am yours!”  _ Please touch me, _ she almost blurted, catching herself just in time. 

Jafar chuckled in response and waved his staff. The jet of light from its eyes turned into black, serpentine coils, slithering up her legs and wrapping around her thighs, pulling them wider apart. The coils attached to the arms of the throne, leaving her completely bound and splayed out. 

“Ah, now here is the prettiest picture of submission. Princess Jasmine with her cunt on display.” He stepped closer and extended a finger toward her already-clenching lower lips. Slowly, he traced them, spreading her juices over them. Her limbs pushed against the restraints, trying to writhe from the lightning coursing through her. 

_ More, more, _ Jasmine urged silently, but to her agitation, he took a step back. She must’ve made a less-than-flattering face, because he smirked and let out a  _ tsk. _ “Is that how you ask Master for what you want?” 

Breathing heavily, she shook her head. The chains and coils were digging into her skin, but she was so flooded with arousal, she barely felt them. After another excruciating moment of nothing at all, Jasmine blurted, “Please, Master, please touch me, I beg you…” 

“Hmm,” Jafar replied, rubbing her labia again. “How so? Like this?” 

She let out a squeak as he flicked her nerve-bundled nub, the jolt of sudden stimulation nearly unbearable. 

“Or perhaps like this?” Another yelp, this time as a result of a slap against her sensitive flesh. 

And then again nothing for ten seconds, twenty, thirty… “Please, Master!” Jasmine was yelling now, half-hoping he wouldn’t anger him, the other half too desperate to care. “Any way you wish, just please touch me!”

Jafar said nothing, but at least he complied, leaning his staff against the throne and approaching her. His proximity alone was shooting her desire through the roof, amplified by his palm sliding down her bare stomach. By the time it reached her folds, they were dripping wet. Holding eye contact, he slid two of his long fingers into her. 

Her eyes rolled back and she let herself sink into the burst of pleasure. Just when it began to build, he withdrew and held his hand up, inspecting it. 

She recoiled when she saw the tinge of blood, momentarily thrown out of the haze. However, she had no time to dwell on her lost virginity, for he was right up on her now, working his cock into her. At first, the pressure and stretching was uncomfortable, but soon she was giving way for him, allowing the tip of his cock to meet that wonderful spot inside she’d reached only a few times before with her fingers. 

“Such a good girl you are, princess.” Jafar held the sides of her face and thrust into her and by now, nothing else mattered but him, only him, so near to her, and her enjoyment of giving herself up to the one who truly deserved her. His narrowed eyes, dark and still so full of lust, were locked on hers like he, too, had been dreaming of this moment. All of this brought her over the edge, throwing her into a climax more powerful than she’d ever thought was possible. This was it, exactly what she was made for, to submit… 

“Master!” she cried, driving the back of her head into the throne and clenching around his cock, aching for it to stay snug inside of her until she sagged into the velvet, spent. Jafar came in the next moment, unleashing his hot seed deep into her and releasing her face. Jasmine’s eyes filled with tears, yearning for him back. When he smiled, his eyes on her leaking, swollen slit, she smiled back. 

“Now you are properly claimed,” he remarked, fixing his robes and taking hold of his staff. While she lay limp, catching her breath, the staff bathed her in light, vanishing the restraints, cleaning her up, and wrapping her in a silk red dress.  _ Red is the color of sin, _ she thought mechanically as she slid to the floor. 

When she stood, the surroundings, now clearer than ever, assaulted her at once. She was back in the palace amid piles of gold and her sleeping, jester-costumed father, and—and—what was she forgetting? 

Jafar stepped aside, revealing the answer: Aladdin, coated in sand from the broken hourglass. Aladdin, the man she loved. Except neither love nor shame nor regret about what had just transpired was filling her. Despite the events playing out clearly in her mind, she still felt nothing at all. 

Aladdin, on the other hand, looked almost on the verge of tears. He stood in place, thick eyebrows slanted and lips parted, like he’d just witnessed the death of Abu, who was still clattering about.

“Go on, Jasmine,” Jafar prompted, an amused grin on his face as he twirled the hair from his chin. “It is the poor urchin you want, yes?” 

Jasmine’s heart wrenched in her chest. After that intense encounter, Jafar was simply going to dismiss her. Did it matter? She did want Aladdin after all, didn’t she?  _ Didn’t she?  _

The eyes of the serpent were clear; she was not under any spell. She could think rationally, make the right decision. She stepped toward Aladdin, feeling a pinch of pain in between her legs. 

Aladdin held out his hand, ready to take Jasmine’s. And yet, she could not go further. Instead, she turned to Jafar, who seemed to understand her inner turmoil even when she did not. 

“Master,” she pleaded. 


End file.
